


restless dreams (split the night)

by Sweetbriar15



Category: Star-Crossed (TV 2014)
Genre: Alien Culture, Alien Invasion, Alien Sex, F/M, Families of Choice, Gen, Miscarriage, On the Run, Post-Season/Series 01, Psychic Abilities, Resistance, Season/Series 02, Xenophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-29 06:10:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12624903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sweetbriar15/pseuds/Sweetbriar15
Summary: This was not by choice, this never-settling, this never-safe. The Atrians were fighting for survival. The humans were on the brink of genocide. And I was a traitor....The world had ended with a bang after all. Maybe there was some whimpering involved, at least from humans knocked out in the suvek’s blast. But mostly, it was with a bang.





	1. part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Minor details may differ from established canon content for the sake of the story. I’ve done my best with Sondiv, using established terminology and making up more as necessary. I’ve also tweaked probability and characterization in favor of the resolution that would not release me until I wrote it. 
> 
> Title from “The Sound of Silence” cover by Disturbed.

_September_

:: ::

My eyes burned. 

A dried-out drained one, not the itchiness of swamp-fire smoke or a wind searing though eyelashes. I’d shed too many tears if I still felt the ache under my eyelids all these hours later.

Not that anyone would know: no witnesses, no one to see my hands cup cold water from the bucket and splash up into my grimy face. The salvaged mirror shard angled over a makeshift sink only reflected half of one cheek and a single brown eye at a time. In the gloom, my dyed hair further dulled my skin. Pulling it into a ponytail exposed a faint scar on the right side of my neck.

I turned to the door and pulled my hood over my head. Just in case. There was a half-nailed board partially covering the window.

On the lopsided table near the door was a small note, crumpled and carefully re-flattened and folded neatly in half again to keep hidden and safe. My fingers twitched as I picked it up, one finger carefully tracing the graceful lines.

_E me r Y_

The letters were slightly hesitant in placement and just a little bit off in size. Beautiful but odd.

I never saw his writing in school. Tablets were so common that paper was rare—not as a precious commodity, but as a relic of the past, outdated. Of course, the Sector is allowed to have paper.

And of course, our alphabets are strikingly different.

Slipping the note back into my pocket, I shifted my shoulders against the slight weight of my bag and resettled it. I could dwell for days if I let myself sink. There was no time, not anymore. No time for any of it. I had to leave my falling-apart shelter and move on to the next place. This was not by choice, this never-settling, this never-safe.

The Atrians were fighting for survival. The humans were on the brink of genocide.

And I was a traitor.

::

The world had ended with a bang after all. Maybe there was some whimpering involved, at least from humans knocked out in the _suvek_ ’s blast. But mostly, it was with a bang.

Waking up was hard. Not physically: I woke up, as the unconscious do, on my own time. With my parents there to explain that I was okay, that they were okay, that no one had died… that I had been found street-side, along with my friends.

My human friends.

Just before the light took my breath away, he’d been near. So he—they—must have woken first from whatever the _suvek_ did, and removed us from the scene. Protected us.

The Sector went on total lockdown, integration over, no access for any but the highest of human officials accompanied by heavily-armed military. My friends, my Roman, were imprisoned, and certainly in more danger than ever.

That wasn’t the worst of it.

Because once I was able to go back to school, I noticed that I was being followed. At first I thought federal agents were making sure I was not going to be targeted—or contacted, if they suspected there were ways out of the Sector—and I accepted their concern with bitter compliance.

If they were investigating my relationship with Roman, made public due to Castor’s machinations, they would still only know a fraction of the truth. And no one—that I knew of—was aware of our single passionate encounter in the shed. I couldn’t bring myself to pull Julie or Taylor aside to talk about it away from prying ears. And there had also never even been time to breathe a word of his near-death to our friends. Only Teri knew that he’d been outside the Sector at all.

If they thought he would try to contact me, or I would try to reach him… To hurt each other like that was unthinkable. Being forced apart was painful enough, but to make each other’s situations more difficult would have made the strain of our separation worse.

We must have agreed on that: only one note made its way to me via my own father. But that was After.

There was an After because I had already said enough in public in support of the Atrians. Done enough in sight of too many people. My friendships had never been hidden. So maybe it was because of Roman, but most likely it was just because of who I was, that they were not content with watching.

I didn’t like thinking about it.

::

Twigs snapped under my boots. I tried for a lighter tread, but that was nearly impossible when I was so tired. My newly bulging backpack weighed on weary shoulders. _Soon_ , I reminded myself as I slipped around the tree and continued on my own path, unconnected to any trail _. Not too far left to go._

Just through the trees to my left, I caught a glimpse of the silent water. The bayou was a lesser danger for me. Besides, wild animals only approached people when they were hungry. Humans snapped if they didn’t like how someone else looked.

My path brought me between a small cabin and the water’s edge. Surrounded on all sides by tall trees and overgrown vines, the weather-worn wood boards could easily blend in if one didn’t look closely. I could see the railing of a small porch on the far side as I slowed and crouched. My body shuffled through the bushes at a near-crawl, striving to blend into the vegetation.

A floorboard squeaked.

I froze. The water was directly behind me, I could dunk myself and hide in the weeds and overgrowth at the edge, let myself up just enough to breathe through the murky detritus. Backtrack, and hide myself up a tree or in a particularly thorny patch, give myself an extra edge of protection in case they followed. Or refuse to let them take me by forcing—

“Emery?” A whisper on a hopeful breath.

My clenched fists uncoiled.

I scooted forward again, peering through the slats and up at a skittish face searching through the underbrush, her manicured hands clenched on the withered, broken railing. “Taylor.”

Her bright eyes, lined and shadowed to precision, alighted on me. She glowed her relief, her hands reaching toward me even as we both made for the porch steps. Taylor appeared entirely unsuited for a bayou hike: curls, heels, and all the jewelry. Next to her, my unkempt body felt every stitch of the jeans and t-shirt kept on my skin for nearly a week.

She hugged me as if her life depended on it, even when the truth was entirely the reverse.

::

After, my parents were under house arrest. After, I was told I might be able to join them if I displayed good behavior. After.

The only parts I can think about are concrete walls and a tray of food sliding under the door twice a day.

The rest I carried un-thought with me, through the door unlocked with a computer chip provided by a clever friend, through the sewer as I stumbled to an open manhole, through an open window on the second story of a high-school beauty queen’s bedroom window. I did not speak of it when she dressed me in old nondescript clothes, packed as much food as she could fit into a backpack, gave me a paper note my father passed along, and sent me on my way to one of the safest people to help. I did not mention the rest when I showed up at the house of a hate-group’s founders and their son gave me pilfered cash and a list of locations.

I memorized those instead of letting my brain linger. I survived. 

That first night I curled up in a room I had never seen before, barricading the door with a chair and my back. I held an open switchblade in my hand and the shadows lengthened to monstrous proportions and still, half of my thoughts were spared for what horrors the Sector must have contained. Worrying about them meant I wasn’t thinking about me-in-the-after. I could pretend to be me-of-before.

My fingers trembled around a paper note with my name written unevenly. I couldn’t bring myself to open it. But I did press it close to my heart.

In the darkest part of the night, whatever swirling churn of emotion I had been suppressing began to slip away. Like there was a sieve in my head and heart, skimming away the worst of it. And once that sensation had settled, I felt a calm—with an underlying bone-deep sadness, and a gritty layer of determination. I’d sought something other than gnawing emptiness for so long that I let my eyes close so as to sink into those mystery emotions.

In the morning, I attributed it to being truly alone for once.

::

“I used the bathroom,” Taylor said, her hands fluttering between plates and pre-packaged meal wrappings. “That’s where I had talked one of the new waitresses into lending me a gross top and this ugly hat.” A floppy hat flapped frantically in my direction. “She thinks I’m meeting a boy-toy on the sly, and got a new micro-blend top she’d been dying to own in the bargain for her silence. So I have until the curfew.”

“When did they officially start it?” I paused, recalling the last time I’d met with one of my friends. “Lukas is okay, right?”

She nodded. “Yeah, he says that they don’t keep as much of an eye on him anymore. And technically, curfew still doesn’t exist. But almost everyone feels the pressure when there are camo fatigues marching to and from the Sector at night.” Her shoulders tightened as she carefully tipped lumps of cold rice onto a plate. “Like they think a jailbreak is just bound to happen.”

In the clench of her jaw, I could see that we shared a wish about just that possibility. Neither of us voiced it.

My eyes darted down to her flat stomach. Taylor had not said it outright during my brief habitation in her attic during my escape, but had hinted enough with her watery eyes. “What about you? I didn’t ask, before, but…your tears, they weren’t blue anymore.”

Her eyes stayed on the fried chicken she was forking onto our plates. “It was the car crash. When the _suvek_ went off, remember?”

“Oh, Taylor. I’m so sorry.”

Her brittle laugh echoed in the small cabin. “At least the doctors didn’t realize it. They thought the bleeding was my period. Otherwise, I’d have been targeted just like you.”

A part of me wanted to ask if she was sure it was the crash, and not an incompatibility between human and Atrian. But that was a selfish desire, a hopeless question, and would only hurt her more because that same question must have tormented her already. When she placed one of the plates on the floor in front of me, I reached out to grasp her hand.

Our eyes met. Hers were filled with grief, both unfamiliar and too-keenly shared. I did not know what it meant to mourn a child of my own. But I was the only other person in the world who felt the loss of her lover in the same way.

This was a conversation for whispers, too precious to take the slim chance that we were followed, watched, and overheard by the enemy. “Drake is strong. He’s doing everything he can to make it out and make it back.” To her.

“He’s going to do something stupid, I just know it,” she replied, equally soft.

“But he is a survivor.”

“So is Roman,” she countered. “He was born to lead, and he’s already brought us all through so much. They have to listen to him sometime.”

My eyes fell for a moment. “He would trade himself for his people. If he thought it would save them…” For them, wouldn’t he compromise everything that he believed? Everything he felt?

Even give up me?

Shame rushed through me. He was the future _iksen_ , if not already having taken up the title during this crisis with Castor dead. The role’s responsibilities and demands were mostly unknown to me, but I had already known that our possibilities were limited by his sworn duty. I had already known that his duty to them may outweigh any desire to follow his heart.

I shook my head released Taylor. “He’ll do everything he can to keep them safe. They survived the crash on Arrival Day. They’ll make it through this.” 

“Emery.” Taylor’s touch was soft and fleeting. “They’re not the only ones who are survivors.”

When I glanced up, her hands were occupied with delicately lifting crispy skin from a chicken thigh. Despite myself, I smiled. “Or warriors, Miss Super-Strength.”

The corners of her eyes crinkled slightly, just enough to be genuine. “I’m surprised that it stuck around, but at least I’m getting better at controlling it. I’ve only bent one fork this week! And no doors.”

We laughed together. I slowly scooped rice up with my fingers, enjoying the company despite our omnipresent worries.

We were silent until Taylor finished her chicken and set the bone down with deliberate care. “Roman won’t stop until he sees you again, too,” she said.

Guilt rose in my stomach and I could not keep eating. “Taylor.”

She tapped her fingers on the ground. “You know, I’d wondered if you would keep bouncing between the hot alien guy and the hot human guy. One of them had to be a high-school romance, one of those bad-teenager-choice flings. They couldn’t both last. But, your response to flatly ending things with Grayson was way different from how you were after you hit pause on it with Roman.”

Grayson. There was a name I didn’t think about much. Not out of spite: so much of my gratitude was for him, for his help getting me to the first safe houses, for his friendship. But he was under ongoing surveillance to an extent different from the rest of our friends. Through them, I knew he was okay.

And that his parents were regularly hosting the increased military presence in our town.

He gave us an edge as long as everyone else thought he was fully back under the Red Hawk flag. All the information he gleaned from his parent’s guests trickled through circuitous routes. That meant we couldn’t be in contact much at all, so it was easier not to think of him. And the longer we were apart, the more I could feel it—that gentle hum of longing for contact.

However, Grayson’s gentle hum was sharply different from the constant itch in the back of my mind that I had dared not name in the after. In the before I’d have called it cold spaghetti in my backyard shed and soul-piercing depth in a bright Atrian gaze. If I named it…

“And what do you think now?” I stalled.

“Roman was not a high-school fling at all. You’re in love with him.” Her eyes glistened as her lips curled up. “Don’t argue, because you’re looking in a mirror. Only thing missing is your d-dead baby.”

Crude, but she cut down my denial before it was voiced. Mostly because I was too startled not to ask, “You love Drake?”

“How could I not?” she sighed. “Even if it was too fast. Even if we are too young. None of that seems to matter when you’re seeing the world move so quickly towards a genocide. That makes all the little uncertainties matter so little, when their life’s worth is being debated.” We shuddered in unison. She paused, finally meeting my eyes, before she added, “You know what the worst part of loving him is.”

I bit my tongue.

She tilted her head to the side, and her gaze seemed to burn through me. “Being _angry_ that he’s not here,” she whispered, the confession sparking the air between us with sorrow. “Awfully, guiltily, angry at him, because he can’t help you. Because after what you went through he wasn’t there to hold you. Because he couldn’t pull you out of danger even when you were screaming his name.”

“Needing him to be there,” I choked out, “more than anyone else, and the _guilt_ —because he just can’t, and it’s not his fault, and you hate your own people for making that happen, too, but—”

“But that doesn’t stop it from hurting.” Our hands twined together again. They blurred as my tears fell.

I finally blurted, “We don’t have a future here and the world is in so much danger. And he must be in pain too. Where he is and what he’s doing or being forced to do, I don’t even know.”

“It’s terrifying not to know,” she whispered. “That’s the worst part. That’s what they must feel, too."

“He could be hurt,” I sobbed. Her arms came up and pulled me in. “And I can’t help him. I didn’t think it was possible to love too much—but that’s what this is, Taylor.” Clinging to her shirt, for the first time I admitted it. “I love him too much.”

Through her own sniffling came, “Truly loving someone is always too much.”

::

Emery of After has scars.

My years in the hospital did not leave my body marked the way a month incarcerated did. I survived my own body’s betrayal when I was younger with only a transient dissociation from the world outside of a hospital to show it. In the end my mind was stronger for the experience: I had looked death in the eye and learned to keep going.

This served me well. In a way.

::

I splashed water on my face. It did not smell particularly pleasant, but felt good and was from the nearby river at the shack devoid of plumbing. Soothing my heated eyes, the water took away the last traces of my tears.

From behind me, Taylor said, “We have another ally.”

The waters rippled from where my hands had dunked in. A part of me vaguely worried about diseases or insects: necessity made me ignore it. “Where did you meet them?”

“She found me,” Taylor answered as I stood and turned. Her makeup had run and I knew she’d fix it once in her car, away from me and heading back home. A small gesture in deference to my much less put-together reality. “And I have to say, I was totally intimidated after I found out who she was, but you probably won’t have quite the same reaction.”

“Why? Who is it?”

“Long story short, her name is Saroya and she built the _suvek_ —because,” she added quickly, holding up one hand to stop any outburst. “She was blackmailed into it by the Trags.”

“And you believe her?” I recalled Roman’s warning, given not too far from here at a time that felt far too long ago. “How can you be sure?”

Taylor’s arm drifted around her own waist, a telling gesture I only understood when she said, “Because Drake had already told me about her. By name. Because—Emery, it’s his mom.”

A quality character reference—if it could be checked. “Unless he could confirm that this woman is truly—”

“I asked him about her,” Taylor interrupted. “Just to know a bit about who I thought would be a grandmother. And he told me her markings. We were—well, some patterns pass on to children.”

Markings. Then she couldn’t be one of the hidden Trags. “Where is she now?”

“She’s been at my house for a week—not that my parents have any idea, they’re on a business trip.” Upon seeing my expression, Taylor rolled her eyes. “I’m not stupid. She’s been around for two weeks now. We vetted her as best we could, but in the end, we just have to trust her.”

Before-Emery would have said that, and I felt a tiny knot inside my heart ease when I realized that After-Emery was satisfied. I walked forward at last, toward the shack, and Taylor fell in step with me. “Does she know about me?”

“You’ve caught her interest, but she hasn’t sought you out. Says she’s hardly safe enough to risk trying to find another fugitive.”

“We should meet. If she is our ally, I want to know her face, too.” I glanced at Taylor, watching a faint frown-line ease from her forehead. “How is it, being around her?”

She grimaced, then let her lips curve up softly. “She’s actually been great for a sort-of mother-in-law. She’d known, about the baby. Drake told her. So I—I haven’t been alone in that.” Almost too softly for me to hear, she added, “She’s been a lifesaver.”

I tucked my arm through hers and we trudged to the shack in silence. Around us, the bayou quietly simmered through an early summer afternoon.

::

_E me r Y,_

_I –_

No, I can’t. Not yet.


	2. part 2

_November_

_:: ::_

“Your elbow should be higher.” A sharp rap with a staff reinforced the correction. “Good. Hold steady, and—”

I struck out with my fist.

“—yes, there.” I flipped lengthening strands of matted hair out of my eyes, tucking them back under a makeshift headband. Saroya watched, eyes calm, apparently detached. “Again.”

Huffing out a breath, I rested my hands on my hips and asked, “Wasn’t I promised a water break?”

“Didn’t you say you wanted to learn?”

“I’ve been learning all morning,” I countered. She was trying to hide her twitching mouth, so I nudged a little further. “ _Avek oreste eni_.” I have worked for it.

“ _Ehvek hehf_.” You have tried.

The gleam in her eyes reminded me of the extra layer there. “Insulting your student?”

“Pointing out the obvious.”

“ _Drisktani_ Saroya, you forget—I am but a lowly human,” I point out. “My stamina is not what you had expected.”

“No,” she said, finally stepping back with the tacit permission for me to rest. I strode for my water bottle and had it in my hands, turned toward my mouth, before she added, “It is higher than I thought it would be.”

Only my growing familiarity with her idiosyncrasies kept me from spilling precious water all down my front. I drank deeply to buy time while inside, I glowed from her praise.

When I turned, her eyes were gentle over the harsh lines of an uncompromising mouth. “Your people,” she said, “are unlucky to have lost your loyalty.” She clasped her hands together behind her back. “And we are blessed to have gained it.”

I rubbed my collarbone with one hand, as if the movement could actually ease that old ache. “They would have kept it if yours were treated humanely.”

“Yes. That’s not a betrayal, you know.” Her head tilted, a curious owl with her wide eyes fixed unwaveringly on my face. “To value life above pride. The guilt will only hold you back in battle, _drasktani_.”

Would it really come to that? We sparred and she taught me more every day, but we were fugitives and this was survival. But, split as she was between regaining her own people’s loyalty to her as a battle commander, and helping me and Taylor, the comparison was an honor. “Have I earned that title?” I asked, instead.

Her shoulders tightened. “I would claim it for you, if given the opportunity.”

“Oh, are you going to tell me what has you so worried?” When her mouth slackened—just a fraction—my own slipped into the tiniest crack of a grin. “You’re in parade rest. We didn’t keep going through noon’s passing.” I pointed up at the sky, where the sun was just reaching its zenith.

“ _Rehksvi_.” Very clever.

Still, she hesitated.

That was how I knew.

“They won’t welcome me,” I said, slowly, fists clenching then falling into lax passivity. “Eljida is only for Atrians.”

Saroya nodded once. “They need me. Few of the _Vwasak_ are with them, and those who are, were Elders when we crashed.”

“You don’t need to explain.”

“But I do,” she said. Turning, she retrieved her staff from where she had let it rest against a trunk. “The _li-Hwatab_ may need to be cautious for Eljida’s survival, but they are overly cautious here and listen to the smallest fraction of village members. To everyone who has met you, you have proven yourself, Emery. So has my future _etvuhi_ , as a matter of fact.”

Daughter-in-law. Saroya claimed Taylor as family.

My fingers curled into my hips as I struggled to find the words to reply. She did not wait. Stepping closer to me, looking me right in the eye, she softly added, “If your survival were at all in question, I would name you as daughters of _Vwasak_ before _Iksen, Hwatab_ , and all the people.”

“Even in front of our people?” The hesitant, disbelieving part of me slipped the words out of my mouth.

And her lips finally twitched into a smile as she replied, “Atria would become your people, and your former people an honored _hwa_ -tribe.” An ally to the people.

In the weeks we had spent dancing warily around each other’s hiding places; in the months since we had forged a working relationship of scavenging, hiding, and running; and in all the time we spent in silent companionship and loud arguments, I had established respect for this courageous woman. To be given a glance by that keen eye and told that I was a worthwhile ally had been encouraging.

To be told that she wanted to welcome me into her own tribe… 

Besides Sondiv, I had learned quite a bit about Atrian culture. To offer a place in the tribe or family was an immense, ancient gesture of acceptance, on par with a peace treaty or a military alliance. Rather than marriages taking that historic role, like in human history, the _coruya_ was known to have finally united the Atrian tribes. Even the Trags who betrayed their _iksen_ were still members of their tribe, not disowned or ostracized within the Sector.

_Setiv ke sutuziv_. Love and unity.

The only reply I could make flowed out in my native language. “I would have been honored, Saroya. Even if it was just to bring me to Eljida.”

Her eyes glimmered. “I’d not call for _coruya_ as an obligation.”

She stiffened when I hugged her, but only out of unfamiliarity with the gesture. Her arms cradled me like a mother’s—and I grieved and celebrated the sensation.

::

I was human, and that was an advantage.

When we needed supplies, I could walk into towns without needing to hide. The theft was uncomfortable—though that discomfort was unnervingly fading, especially when I was at my hungriest—and the process was still dangerous. Though disguised, though looking entirely different from myself, there was always a chance that military, law enforcement, or a well-informed citizen could spot me.

But Saroya was clearly marked as Atrian, and that limitation on her movements frustrated her. And an increasing military presence in the state turned suffocating.

One close call too many in the human world, and Taylor sat us both down and demanded more caution.

Staying in Eljida was all the more important when Saroya had to linger in the shadows and sightings of her were becoming riskier. Among her own kind, able to stand in bright sunlight again, she would be happier. And though I would be on my own again, she would be safer. Besides, I could keep sending supplies their way whenever I struck luck on surplus supplies.

So I stood on the shore and waved as she faded away into the mists on a boat captained by a respectfully wary Jesytur. One warning from the Gatekeeper was all I received—she would not stand for me to be seen as a possible enemy.

He did not look back, though she did.

::

I still have Roman’s note.

I still haven’t read it.

::

I’d forgotten the sound of silence, and what it felt like to go for days at a time without speaking, and how the cabin could feel entirely uninhabited even though I rested there every night. How I could turn inward and find that strange tense, strong resting place, when I was feeling particularly lonely. With Saroya as a companion, I’d chased after that foreign sense of calm only occasionally. I’d come to recognize that it was not a part of myself, but had no name to label it by—all I knew was that the calm place helped me feel strong.

A rough week—perhaps a little less—passed by in solitude before I heard the crunch of leaves under a pair of boots again.

Peering around a trunk, a masculine figure approaching, I considered diving for the water. Until the haircut seemed familiar, and then the stride and sloped shoulders, and I knew.

“Finally decided to check out the family property?” I called out from where I hid.

He paused, a grin flickering across his face. Relief. “Heard there was someone squatting in it. That’s illegal, you know.”

I snorted. “If that’s what you have issue with—”

“I figure it’s been pretty tough, these past months,” he said quickly. There was an awkward pause, as if someone had thrown an insult and wasn’t sure how to take it back.

Taking pity on his uncertainty, I stood and left the underbrush, staff at a resting angle. “It’s good to see you, Grayson. How is everyone?”

“A lot’s been happening,” he replied. He came closer. “There’s news from the Sector. That’s why I’m here.”

“Is it safe for you?” I led him toward the cabin, appreciating that he let me take the lead even though the property was his. “Everything at home died down yet?”

I did not see him shrug, but could well hear it in his voice. “Enough for me to spend a few hours out with a friend. And you? How have you been?”

“Surviving.” A battered kettle swung in my hands as I checked that it still held water, then added kindling to the dying fire. “Leave the door open,” I told him over my shoulder. No chimney for ventilation. We—no, I, made do with cracked windows and, occasionally, the open door.

“Just surviving?”

I spared him a silencing glance—a blank, careful look, one that told him I would not be sharing any further. Taylor knew better than to ask. “What’s your news?”

He could have resisted my redirection, and I appreciated that he simply sunk into the sturdier chair. His hesitation was only long enough to recollect the order of his thoughts. “The Sector’s under tighter restrictions. Like a prison. New living arrangements—families split up, cells put up. There are more guards, and more disappearances. The _Hwatab_ is kept mostly in isolation with brief interactions to reassure the rest that they are…alive.”

My fingers twisted a branch of kindling into smaller pieces. “And how did we get this insider information?” None of that had been in any of the latest news broadcasts.

“Drake.”

I whirled around. “What?” If he was out—who was protecting Roman? How did he get out at all?

“He wouldn’t say how, just that he had to get back by a certain time. He gave the impression that an intentional human error was involved.” Grayson’s eyebrows scrunched together. “He said to tell you, specifically, that no one would be in trouble. Atrian, or guard.”

Weak at the knees, I collapsed into the rickety chair. “Dad.”

Who else? Someone on the inside, someone with power, had to have been involved if restrictions were so much worse than they used to be. I’d told my parents, before disappearing, to do everything in their power to prove themselves unconnected to my traitorous self. They wanted to stand by me: I told them to be safe.

If they had listened, my dad would have had his job still. He could be perfectly placed. If he had decided to help…

“He wouldn’t say, just in case we weren’t as alone as we thought. But yeah, I think so.” Grayson tilted his head to the side, then added, “Roman’s fine.”

“He’s the new _Iksen_?”

“Yes.”

“Then he’s essentially untouchable—as long as he toes the line.” I turned back to the kettle, checking to see that the water was nearing a boil. “Drake wouldn’t have left him without protection. And Roman’s only focus has to be on his people.” That was what worried me the most. “Did Drake say if the military is starting to ease up?” Outside the Sector, the increased military presence seemed obvious, but I also wasn’t around town as much as I used to be.

“Still as strong as ever. I can see that on my end. Actually.” The pause drew my eyes from the chipped mugs to his troubled face. “I’d say they might be even more amped up than they were at the start of all this.” Then I had seen it right.

“More?” The _Suvek_ was destroyed, or being studied. It caused a few small accidents due to rampant unconsciousness, but, in the grand scheme of things, very little damage was actually done. “What did they find out?”

“I don’t know. Drake would only say that the _suvek_ had actually been a signal.”

The kettle trembled in my hands as I poured boiling water over loose leaves. “To who?”

Grayson did not answer for a long time. “Drake wasn’t able to tell us much, but mentioned a ‘they.’ That ‘they’ will be very mad about the Sector. Furious about the former _Iksen_ and Arrival Day. He claims that the _Hwatab_ and Roman are no longer thinking about how to appease our government, but how to stop _us_ from being killed.”

“Us?” I shook my head. “They should be thinking about their own survival.”

“You know how Drake is,” Grayson reminded me.

“ _Vwasak_. He takes his calling seriously.”

He paused, set aside his evident confusion, and plunged on. “He always fights back. So he’s focused on that while their leaders think about protecting humans. He even said Roman’s right to do so."

Humans were in danger. Somehow, that thought did not make me frightened for myself—just sad.

Buried in the mysterious, imminent threat of who—or what—had been signaled from the depths of space, there was an endless compassion. The Atrian leaders were worried about human survival, when they had been kept imprisoned for a decade. When they had been mistreated far more throughout their time on Earth than treated with any dignity, compassion, or respect, by the planet’s inhabitants.

And if it was our actions on Arrival Day, our responsibility for the death of their _Iksen_ , our decision to create the Sector, that made this new threat mad…

Well. Hadn’t we done that to ourselves?

“Why should they worry about humans?” I said softly. “Too many have never shown them any kindness.”

“They don’t want slaughter,” Grayson replied. I looked up from my mug to see him watching his own. “I think it’s pretty clear that the threat is more ships. After all, the Trags were the ones responsible for the _suvek_. They wanted a war.”

“We can still avoid it.”

“Can we?”

“War can always be stopped,” I argued. My eyes narrowed on the clench of his jaw, the shadows under his eyes. “Especially if the ones at fault were to make the first steps toward peace.”

“I doubt they will. They wanted—”

“I wasn’t talking about the Trags.” He stared at me. A glimmer of frustration burned in my stomach. “Humans attacked first on Arrival Day. A human killed their _Iksen_ , the leader in all things. And humans created the Sector.”

“We were reacting to what was in front of us.” He leaned forward, teeth bared in a grimace of remembered grief. “We did not ask them to crash here—”

“Neither did they—that’s why it was a _crash_ , not a landing.”

“That’s not what I meant—”

“Then say what you mean.”

“Emery, they are going to attack us!” His shout startled me—so used to silence, talking at all had been loud to my ears. He breathed in, collected his thoughts, and continued at a lower volume. “Maybe Roman’s not leading the charge, or any Atrian still here on Earth, but whatever is out there—they’re not coming here to say hello and play nice. Not if the Trags called them.”

“Would you really expect them to?” I gripped my mug between both palms, feeling the heat and using it to ground myself. “After the way humans have treated them here?”

“Then—”

“I’m not saying you’re wrong to be afraid,” I interrupted. “I’m afraid, too. But our government, our country, has had so many chances to behave differently. To be welcoming, to be compassionate, to not treat them like enemies. And I have not seen any of those chances taken. Only the integration program really started to make progress, and the Trags abused it because of all the other mistreatments. They saw no reason to trust us.” Grayson’s eyes met mine defiantly, and I only hesitated a moment before admitting, “I understand their fear.”

He shook his head. “I’m telling you were are going to be at war for our lives, and still, all you care about is them.”

A faint roar in my ears blocked the ambient forest noise. “That’s not true.”

“You’re sitting here explaining why they have every reason to be mad at us, excusing the possibility of war because of all the things we thought we had no choice but to do—"

“And still, there is a chance for us to stop it! Don’t you see?” I swallowed hard, my throat scratchy from too much talking. “If the military would back off in the Sector and recognize that a group of extremists is not the whole, if they would trust Roman to talk to this threat and try to calm their anger, if we would stop treating refugees as terrorists—”

“How do we know who’s still dangerous? How do we know who won’t help?”

“How do the Atrians know we aren’t going to continue right down the path to Nazi Germany?”

His eyes flashed. “That’s—"

A bitter laugh escaped my throat. “Oh, don’t try. With what humans say to and about them? Their living conditions? The Crates? You just said that Drake told you more of them are disappearing. Where do you think they go—a cushy hotel room?”

The chair rattled, tilted, and clattered to the floor as he shoved away from the table. He stalked to the far corner and back. Watching him pace confirmed to me that he was aching—torn between his dead brother, his twisted parents, his love for other people, and the fact that he had formed friendships with members of an alien race. The fact that those aliens were set up as our enemy. The fact that he was scared.

He was not the only one in this cabin who was terrified. But I had long run out of patience while these months had slipped by and I remained stranded in the bayou. Hunted by my own people because I was considered a traitor. For daring to believe that coexistence was possible. For daring to befriend, to love, Atrians. For refusing to be silent when racists ran at the mouth and openly declared their desire for another genocide to take place on the American continent.

Not enough to run the original inhabitants down and strip them of everything: no, any refugees, fleeing from their torn and troubled homes, were greeted with gunfire and distrust. Whether human or alien, that was how this country dealt with newcomers.

Was I expected to mourn that country? No: I refuse.

I would mourn people. They did not need to die, and whatever was coming for us did not need to kill them. Just like the Atrians did not need to endure the Sector. And I would mourn the loss of all our possibilities—our bright future of integration, forever crushed because humans refused to trust in another race, nor in each other.

But I refused to mourn the system that marked me the traitor, instead of the hate-mongering extremists. A system that would treat the Atrians as enemies for existing.

Grayson would not agree. I could read as much in the clenched fists he held tightly to his sides. His loyalty was not divided: he was wholly in the camp of humanity, loyalties clear and unwavering. My loyalty was divided, and what’s more, I was falling further away from division with every passing week on the run.

When it eventually solidified, the title of traitor would likely fit my skin much more easily.

::

Grayson did not stay long. We did not keep arguing: he simply passed on the rest of his news, and departed with wishes of good luck.

I trusted him not to sell me out. A short argument was not enough for him to turn his back on me. Especially when I made sure to close out our conversation with demure, pleasant responses to the news of our other friends’ continued under-the-radar lives. I ensured that we did not discuss Roman at all—a touchy topic between us at the best of times.

Intentionally making sure we parted on good terms was not solely done out of self-preservation. Neither of us knew when, or if, we would see one another again.

Once he was gone, I packed up and moved on to the next place. Our argument lingered in the walls of the cabin, and besides, I was always careful. Whenever Taylor came, I’d move on for days just in case she had been followed without her knowledge.

Grayson’s appearance meant I’d probably stay away for at least a week. Just in case.

As I was moving through the trees, I reached out tentatively, seeking that comforting, if foreign, place of peace. The anger and sorrow within me calmed as I felt it.

I stopped. Leaves rustled. A bird called out, and another replied. No other human life-forms could be heard.

I almost felt as though I weren’t alone. Like that calm place I had found was reacting to my distraught state after Grayson’s departure. I’d held it together visibly, but had been shoving my emotions the way I usually did. To the back of my mind, away from my conscious thought, until I was alone.

What was this sensation? Some might have called it spiritual.

My mind went elsewhere—this was otherworldly.

…Atrian?

My eyes darted around the trees, but if an Atrian had been following me since my fugitive status was new, they would have approached me by now. Besides, my mind only jumped there because there was so much I knew that I still did not know about Atrians. Even after Saroya’s lessons in the language.

If only I could contact her for advice directly. Eljida appreciated the support Taylor and I brought through material donations every chance we could, but leaving clothing or medical supplies at a drop-off point wasn’t a true contact. She was safer with them.

Still, I wished I could ask if I was imagining it, or if there was some way that contact with Atrians had changed me.

My mind flashed to the heated intensity of a shed and bare skin before the _suvek_ blasted our world apart. I shook my head. But then Taylor would be the person to ask. She hadn’t mentioned anything like this, but neither had we talked about sex. Too many other things, too much pain in those memories. Maybe I’d ask her next time we spoke.

As I started walking again, I let that outside comfort bolster my strength to continue.

::

“I wish I could give you more,” Julie whispered into my ear, clutching tight around my shoulders. “But the new haircut should also help for a while.”

“Thank you,” I told her, gratitude choking up any more words. Lukas patted my back as I kept clinging to the both of them.

The haircut took my matting and stringy ends. My bag contained new toiletries. Lukas had even passed me an I-swear-it’s-untraceable phone, though making calls to anyone I loved would still need to end quickly and be rare and few between.

The dingy dark alley rose up around me again as I pulled away. The two of them were dressed for a road trip, and would soon be taking a detour further south. Our meeting was only possible because surveillance had lessened slightly. And, so far from the places I’d actually been hiding out, I thought it was a risk worth taking. Even though I’d had troubled dreams a couple nights before, probably from anxiety, I was glad to see their faces in person.

“This means so much—but stay safe,” I cautioned them, our hands still clasped together.

“What do you take us for?” Lukas joked. “We’ve been more cautious than ever.”

“And you’ll keep being that cautious.”

“We’ll do what we have to do,” Julie said. “Eric’s laying a false trail, and Taylor another. It’s worth it just to see you again.”

“Totally.”

Julie passed another water bottle to me, and I eagerly took a drink. Nothing beat filtered water: no amount of boiling and iodine could match it. “You’ve mentioned them, but everyone else is really okay?”

“Yeah.” Lukas paused, then added, “So are our Atrian friends. All of them.”

I nearly choked on the water, but managed to keep from showing too much surprise. “You’ve been in touch?”

“A couple nights ago. Someone stuck them in a room together with a videophone. That same someone told us a meeting time.” Lukas looked at me intently enough that I understood in a heartbeat.

“No, he—my dad…?”

They both nodded.

I reeled long enough that Julie began filling in the gaps, babbling away. “He said it was a gesture of goodwill, and that we deserved a chance to talk to our friends. We were careful about meeting up, about going the long way around to your house, to a room Lukas and your mom made sure were bug-free. She was in the house with us while your dad was in the Sector. We used their phones because there’s nothing unusual about your parents calling each other, and we didn’t say anything sensitive because data can still be tracked. And—”

“They’re all fine. They’re surviving, slowly proving themselves innocent of doing anything wrong, and they miss you. He misses you, Emery,” Lukas cut in.

My heart ached with the longing for the lost opportunity, with rage that I hadn’t been there. That I couldn’t have been there. And a gnawing jealousy curled in my stomach, that they got to see him and I did not.

Damn them, for branding me traitor.

“Good. I’m—so glad to hear that.” I hesitated. Bit the bullet. “Did you tell them why I wasn’t there?”

“Oh, Emery. I’m sorry,” Julie said softly, blushing. “We hadn’t really talked about it before, and I only thought later that you might not have—I mean, it’s just that Roman—”

I sighed. “It’s okay, Jules, I didn’t expect you to lie. So…he didn’t take it well.”

“Understatement.” She sighed. “It started because I slipped and mentioned you being…questioned, which they did not like. And then, Taylor tried to reassure them, but explaining how she was helping you made the whole on-the-run thing come out, which only made his freaking out worse. Sophia calmed him down, but. None of that went to plan.”

“He pulled himself together,” Lukas reassured me. I wasn’t feeling it, and he could tell: his hands came up beseechingly. “Emery. He’s not going to go do something stupid.”

“How sure are you?”

“Like, eighty-percent.”

I snorted, shook my head, and rolled my shoulders. While mildly irritated at their irresponsibility, I couldn’t deny the irritation was mild compared to the anxiety that had been lingering in my own body for the past few days. The anxiety had come out of nowhere, sharp and sudden, a full-on panic attack. I certainly hoped that wasn’t going to become a part of my survival routine.

“It’ll be all right, I guess.” There was a faint car engine outside, and I glanced in that direction. “We’ve been here too long.” My hands clasped theirs again, a brief, solid pressure from each.

“Take care of yourself, okay?” Lukas said. Julie gave my hand a double squeeze.

A smile rose up, unbidden, feeling strange on my face. “I always do.”

When we parted ways, I went first, and fast. No one noticed me slip away.

::

_E me r Y,_

_I  ha ve  l itt le  t I me  t o  se n d  t hi s   Th e Y  w a tc h  c l ose  Do  n ot   w o rr Y   f or   Y ou r   f a th er   h e   t ook   l itt l e  r I sk  t o   t a ke   t hi s   n o te_

_Re m e m b er—_

Too well. I can’t, it hurts. Again.

No, I can’t finish. Yet.


	3. part 3

_December_

 :: ::

“Something big happened.” Taylor’s eyes were wide, wet, and had a hint of wildness to them that had my shoulders tensing for a fight.

“How bad?”

“Not sure yet,” she said, closing the lopsided door quickly. If anyone had followed her, the flimsy barrier would do nothing to prevent their entry or overhearing our conversation, but it was a physical comfort to close the world out.

I let her sink into the second chair, still wrapped tightly in her thick sweater, before pressing her to continue. “Taylor. What happened?”

Her story confirmed Grayson’s dire fears. Atrian warships, signaled by the _suvek_ , coming to Earth. A government cover-up, continuing to assure humans that nothing had happened, all the while knowing what was heading to our planet. A discomforting, blustering bravado that we could protect our planet with some unknown weaponry.

And, much more startlingly, that Atrian soldiers had already been landing on the planet, in secret, and remained at large.

“Saroya says that only a handful have come to Eljida,” she whispered, her words having come fast and low. “The rest are who-knows-where. Possibly infiltrating the Sector somehow.”

“What could their mission be?” I asked. A large part of me didn’t want an answer. “Why would our government—”

“A mob would storm the Sector, that’s why.” Taylor shook her head. “If anything else happens to the current captives, and they really have warships with technology we haven’t been able to reverse-engineer in all the years that crashed one has been studied…”

I stood and approached my half-full water bucket. Dipping a cup for us to share, I said, “True. But the Atrian scouting force—do they just want to know what’s been going on here? Or do they have another mission?”

Wild thoughts twisted and curled in my brain: of secret missions to infiltrate the military, plans to assassinate or destabilize the Sector’s security, disabling or incapacitating large chunks of the human population ahead of the fleet’s arrival…

“I doubt they already knew about the Sector.” Taylor raised one eyebrow. “And that’s the most likely reason they’re here early. Scouting out the enemy.”

“Do you think they’ll do anything?” I asked, slowly.

“Saroya didn’t say,” she replied. “She didn’t want to, but…these are warriors. Not civilians. Some are even _Vwasak_.”

Then there was really no question about it.

My stomach was curling into itself and I sat heavily. “How do we fight this?”

“We don’t.” Startled, I met Taylor’s unhappy gaze. “According to Saroya. Not only are we not soldiers—”

“Aren’t we?”

She shook her head. “Emery.”

I leaned forward. “Aren’t we, though? You’ve been training with Saroya, too. You’ve been sneaking around and helping hide me and smuggling supplies. If not a part of the resistance, if not traitors to our own—”

“We are not traitors,” she shot back. “Loving who we love does not mean we betrayed anyone!”

“No—but their safety is more important to us, right now.”

Her lips pursed, but she shook her head adamantly. Her shoulders now squared, where before, they had begun to hunch, she tossed her curls over one shoulder and jabbed a single shiny nail in my face. “Standing up for justice is resistance, and I’ll gladly take that label. But I won’t stand for the divisive Us versus Them. Thinking that way is what got us into this situation, where we have alien soldier spies landing on the planet to see just how badly humans screwed up!”

“Fine.” I shook off the argument. “I’m just saying, if we’re in this, then the alien soldier spies are still our problem, too.”

“Not according to Saroya, who says we just need to lie low,” Taylor sighed, her knuckles turning white around the cup as both resettled into their grasp on it. “But. I could worry in her eyes. She was just more concerned that you and I keep ourselves safe.”

“We will,” I promised her. We clasped hands over the table. “Okay. There’s no use speculating. You and I, we’re not going to be able to change whatever their plans are, and if Saroya says not to go after them...”

“I hate sitting by while everything happens around me.”

“You’re not. You’ve been undercover gathering information.” I took a quick sip from the tin cup. “We’ve been helping Eljida survive.” Our eyes met again. “But I’m also tired of hiding.” And running. Always running.

Two human girls against the world. Everyone we loved either safely at arm’s length, hiding in the wild, or imprisoned. What did we have to lose, in the end?

::

A rush of swiftly-quenched anger startled my hands out of their scrubbing. The sensation made no sense. Sometimes, I could almost believe that I was feeling the emotion all on my own. But this, for a slightly-dented tin cup in the wash bucket? No. This was that alien awareness, clearly not-mine.

Taylor glanced up from the table when I turned. Her eyes darted to my soaked hands in confusion. “Something wrong?”

“I have a strange question for you,” I said. “Have you ever felt…” Like someone else was in your head? “Do you feel…” No, still too bizarre.

“Feel,” she repeated, prompting.

Just stumble on through it. “Sometimes there are emotions in me that aren’t mine.” I gestured with my hands. “I felt anger from—elsewhere. As I was scrubbing. Usually it’s not so obvious.”

She was silent for long enough that I looked away from my own hands. Her arched eyebrows and wide eyes were a surprise, but more so was her suddenly hushed, “You and Roman…how close did you two get? Like, physically?”

Oh. Oh, no.

“You mean—”

“Oh my gosh, you totally did!”

“How did you…?”

“Well, I’m super strong, Emery! Where did you think that came from?”

Heavily, I sat. “I thought that was just because you were pregnant!”

“Well, it stuck around,” she said, crossing her arms and raising her eyebrow further. “From intimacy, as Saroya explained it—gifts bleed over between partners. Shallow empathy is Atrian. I didn’t really notice because he tended to block it off, before, but now—well, I’ve been thinking of it as my Drake-dar.”

She couldn’t mean—

“The feelings.” I struggled to pull by thoughts back together. “They’re from…”

Her mouth twisted down in sympathy. “You aren’t hallucinating. Those emotions are a link him. _Sutuziv_ , for strong partnership.”

Roman.

This was _Roman_. A surge of anger, quickly squelched underneath a firm hand of control. That tense, strong resting place, and that foreign sense of calm.

And memories: in the darkest part of the night at the very start of my on-the-run life, a swirling churn of emotion I had been suppressing in my loneliness being skimmed away and replaced with a calm and a bone-deep sadness and a gritty layer of determination. And so many moments I walked the bayou paths on my own, feeling ways that made no sense at the time…

This wasn’t the trauma of my imprisonment leaking out into my freedom, or the slow loss of sanity that could so easily come from isolation. This wasn’t my own brain coping with the tensions. This wasn’t compartmentalizing.

This was my so-far-away alien boy simultaneously being psychically close.

Knowing that Atrians had numerous strange abilities, having witnessed and discussed them, did not prepare me for this change to myself. I could have been upset by this unforeseen alteration to my very being, but instead, all I felt was a bone-trembling spike of relief.

Right on the heels came the grief. The tears.

Taylor caught me in her arms as I sobbed, helplessly distraught to know that we weren’t completely separate after all. My stomach twisted ever-sharper when, right on cue, interior displacement came with a lingering whiff of uncertainty, a nudge of comfort-peace skating over an underbelly of that same gritty determination and stomach-churning guilt.

Roman, feeling guilty—for our connection? Or because he couldn’t be right here in the flesh when he could feel my distress?

Had I felt the guilt from him before? There was a familiar bitterness to it, so it must have often been mixed in underneath the rest. And that set me off again into crying, twisting me up into knots, heart bursting with love and longing.

Love echoed back. Calm, too—firmly.

Just as he had in the past, he was trying to take care of me in the only way we had left. The link was a gift I hadn’t anticipated.

Yet.

With Taylor’s fingers raking gently through my hair to soothe, murmuring hushes and whispers, I only wanted him instead. Anger spiked in response to his pressing calm. Inside, the bubble of foreign sensation rippled like a startled cat, bunching up unhappily, almost threatening to press harder.

Somewhere deep inside, I knew how to do this: a wall came down.

And suddenly, sharply, I felt nothing but my own grief and anger. It was shocking enough to halt my tears and draw a gasp from my throat. I hadn’t realized that it had been so pervasive in me. I hadn’t realized that I had the power to close myself off from that sensation until it became so obvious I couldn’t ignore it.

“Emery?” Taylor patted a few stray tears from my cheek with a tissue. “I know it’s a lot. Like, really freaky. Unbelievably. Which makes it so great to have someone to talk to about it, because until Saroya, but—”

“I can’t.”

“You can’t…talk about it?”

I backed away from her. “I can’t have this connection. We can’t. I don’t want it.” The outburst came seething in fury.

Her eyebrows furrowed in sympathy and her lips remained pursed. She didn’t try to talk me out of it that afternoon, falling silent and let me get back to scrubbing my fingers to prunes under water. But before she left, she patted my shoulder and said, “I want them here, too.”

::

I blocked him for days.

And days, and days…

::

When I let him back into my head, tumbling relief-worry-fear-guilt-anger sent me crashing to my knees on the bank of a bayou river. So easily, he inundated my senses and left me desperately sobbing. So strong—almost more than my own sorrow.

Love-love-love echoed across the space between us.

Equilibrium returned within the day, a new balance forged in a conversation without words. I wasn’t the only one angry about not having more.

::

We’d turned to a new calendar year by the time it came up again. By the time Taylor stood at my side on the bank that led to Eljida, waiting.

Taylor could no longer stay in town. I could no longer stay in hiding. Human days had ended with the dawn, and now contacting Saroya was our only hope. Atrian ships hovered in the sky as we stood, their message broadcast planet-wide.

_Surrender weapons. Release the Sector. Disobey, and there will be war._

I let myself take out the crumpled note I’d never read. And in my hands at that moment, I knew that it was time.

::

_E me r Y,_

_I  ha ve  l itt le  t I me  t o  se n d  t hi s   Th e Y  w a tc h  c l ose  Do  n ot   w o rr Y   f or   Y ou r   f a th er   he  di d  no t   r i sk  hi s  sa f e t Y  t o   t a ke   t hi s   n o te_

_Re m e m b er   s o me ti me s  bu t  d o  no t  le t  me m or Y   s t o p   Y ou   f r om  s ur vi vi n g_

_A n d  mY  p a th  wi l l  al wa Y s  le ad   me  b a ck  t o  Y ou_

_Ro m an_

:: :: ::

_January_

::

“You’ve done so much for us,” Taylor said softly, her hands curled in her lap and her eyes watery. “How can we ever repay you?”

“ _Torautou_ ,” Jesytur replied. _Calm yourself_. “It is you who have helped us immeasurably, who have proven that not all of your people are so far from Atria’s own. Even without Saroya to vouch for you,” he added, gesturing to the woman who stood proud at my shoulder, “all your aid has been appreciated and essential to our well-being.”

“In fact,” Saroya said, resting one palm on my shoulder, “Even while deciding our course in the face of this war, the _Hwatab_ of Eljida have agreed to offer what protections we can to you both.”

“Such a choice will not be well received by the _uahtab_ and his men,” Jesytur commented gravely. My eyebrow rose minutely—a military rank, not a competing leadership title? Curious. If any Atrian on Earth was of higher rank—

“And the _uahtab_ will have no choice if our _iksen_ and _Hwatab_ declare otherwise.”

“An _iksen_ who has not reached full adulthood?” He shook his head. “Our people will not halt. Even if he were his father, that wouldn’t be enough, not after all these years."

“ _Hwatab_ alone—”

“Turning ten heads in the same direction is like trying to hold water in cupped hands.”

“We must try,” Saroya proclaimed, eyes glinting in the campfire light.

My stomach twisted, uncertainty painting my face into a mask. There was little doubt of where they could stand—and I didn’t blame them for being angry with most humans. But this could mean asking us to join them, and that…

I didn’t think I could fight humans, even if I knew myself to be a traitor.

“What can we do? The warning from the ships yesterday…” I shook my head. “War’s inevitable.”

“Not necessarily.” Saroya’s face was placid as the bayou waters. “With our _Hwatab_ welcoming you… Eljida’s protection might be the foundation for something more. There’s a risky bluff, one that might not stop this war. But it should work to save you, and that’s enough for me.”

Taylor’s fingers twined with mine and Saroya’s hands, the three of us forming our own small web of support. “I’d prefer we save everyone. We have to try. Whatever it takes,” she said, trembling chin firming under her determination.

In my heart, the push-pull of caution-worry-fear ebbed towards love. I reached back—like a mental pat on the shoulder—with grim determination. “If you have an idea, then we should do it.”

Just like when the threat was first broadcast, a mental nudge returned my gesture. Warm affection rolled in.

“We’ll have to do something dangerous,” Saroya warned us. I turned to look up at her.

“Everything already is—let’s make it count.”

::

Humans never did anything easily. Fighter jets went down, ill-equipped tanks rolled in the streets, and homes were shut and bolted. Deserted streets told their own stories. This is the way that the world responded to a threat feverishly imagined but never prepared to endure. This very fear was the impetus behind creating the Sector in the first place.

This very fear caused a mass breakout and the fiery destruction of the Sector where Atrians had been kept on Earth for so long.

And this very fear turned the new Atrian arrivals from patronizing to angry.

::

A meeting on a riverbank, a night of travel through the town, and sneaking aboard an Atrian shuttle flying straight to the heart of their fleet: this is what changed the fate of the world.

::

Alien metal under my feet, baggy rags wrapped just so to hide every piece of skin, and all I could concentrate on was the thrumming worry-fear-desperation-sorrow linking me to someone else.

He was so close.

My eyes remained trained on the ground. I forced myself still behind a warrior woman whose feet remained braced and planted, even at the drawn breath from her beloved, slightly battered, son.

She faced the man on the center of the bridge, shoulders thrown back, as she declared herself Saroya of the Vwasak, representative of Eljida, demanding audience with the highest authorities present.

All this in Atrian, of course. My head swam between the Sondiv and the real-time translation device in my ear, hand-made by Saroya herself. My shoulder pressed heavily against Taylor’s, forcing her to grind her teeth and clench her fists and hold back, wait, wait, wait…

We’d both been waiting so long.

But this was not the time.

The floor was shiny black, enough to catch glimpses of screens and reflections, the warped angle of the _uahtab_ in his chair and a handful of council members, of a more youthful group standing to the side in familiar Earthen-ware.

And the screen, with authorities from Earth, being called to answer in a public broadcast for Earth’s crimes against Atrians. The broadcast would be filtering out to any channels still on to pick them up.

This _uahtab_ had set a stage, viciously hammering in the point that Earth was outmaneuvered and overpowered.

He gestured sharply with one hand, a signal to carry on with the interruption. My mentor spoke sharply, never hesitating. “I call for _coruya_.”

A ripple went through the soldiers standing on the edges of our drama. The _uahtab_ was silent. Then…

“Saroya, by what ancient law do you call _coruya_ on this battle bridge?” The response had the ring of ritual about it, and an undercurrent of readiness. Of sensing a trap.

“By the need of peace among Atrians.”

Again, a pause. “We maintain tribal alliances. _Vwasak_ is not at odds with us in this conflict with Earth.”

Saroya placed her hands behind her back, in parade rest. Those fingers clenched each other only where Taylor and I could see them. “But on Earth, our tribes became divided in our struggle for freedom. Without knowing you would come to our aid, we nearly lost each other. Atrians must be united once more, in all actions, should we not?”

“This is true.” A longer pause, her fingers tightening around each other, my own fists clenching in determination. I continued to hold myself back—even inside, in my heart, where I could feel Roman doing the same.

Assuming, as he must have, that I was nowhere near the scene.

Clearly, given that his emotions carried no spark of recognition in their mix, he had not yet recognized me. Our connection was no stronger with proximity.

The device in my ear translated only the words, but I could hear a suspicious tone in his _Sondiv_. “I suppose, under the circumstances, it is fitting to declare a welcoming on the eve of destruction for our enemies. To what tribe is _Vwasak_ forming another link?”

“As _da_ of _Eljida_ , we declare this alliance.” Village-member.

She wasn’t just calling on her tribe to back her up, but representing their decisions in every action she made here. Declaring their intent united—and hinting that disagreement with that alliance would put this _uahtab_ in direct conflict with the Atrians living freely on Earth.

This time, he did not reply, but a shadowy movement in the floor hinted at some gesture.

“I call _coruya_ for bright bringers of _setiv_ , guides and leaders of their people. These warriors stood beside my clan, my son, and our _Iksen_ himself. They denounced the grim treatment of our people in the Sector. They took on isolation and total endangerment of their lives in the name of our cause on Earth.” She breathed deeply, and as one—as taught—Taylor and I stepped forward, together. Our shoulders came in line with hers. “Life partner of my dearest son, my _etvuhi_ … and my dearest son’s friend, my _drasktani_.”

At hearing Taylor declared, I caught a sudden shift of movement among the Atrain shadows shaded in human-clothing colors—a jolt of aborted movement.

At hearing myself declared, I felt it in my heart. Sudden, swift surging hope, and terror. A sense of reaching, desperate, wild.

I thought of the placid bayou, of the cooling wind, of the days spent quietly alone. From his chair, the _uahtab_ said slowly, “This is an honor to witness, Saroya. Wait no longer.” A cool, dangerous edge laced his words.

“I call forth Taylor Beecham and Emery Whitehill.” As one, we lowered our hoods.

As one, we stepped back behind Saroya, Jesytur and the additional young warriors from Eljida, as they leapt from their places beside and behind us, suddenly at the ready. The bridge crew had grabbed for weapons, and the _uahtab_ himself had a fierce, furious glimmer in his eyes and a steadily-level weapon in his hand.

Seeing instead of glancing in shadows made the bridge brighter and more real than it had felt since stepping off that shuttle. The sight of our Atrian friends, weary and shocked and joyous on the other side, separated by this threat, gave me hope.

“What is the meaning of this?”

“How dare you—”

“Humans!”

 “What is this lie?”

 A great rushing surge of love and fear surged through our hearts. His brilliant eyes, locking with mine across the danger, stepping forward, mouth opening—

 Saroya’s head tilted forward in threat. “My lips speak only truth. So stand my _etvuhi_ and my own _drasktani_.”

“You raised such a perverted child?”

“And you taught one of _them_ our ways?”

Drake’s bristling did not result in a wildfire of rage—he’d learned restraint, somehow, in the past months. It must have been the same place Roman did—in our hasty hashing out of our bluff, I’d anticipated him wrecking his own good standing with the _uahtab_ in his desperation. And yet, feeling a hot coal burning inside, he did not step out of line. Did not disrupt Saroya’s control, her lifted chin and blazing voice.

“My son is my pride: his choice in life partner is _ersetiv_. She has fought for Atrian freedom against her own former tribe. And my _drasktani_ excelled in training, learned our ways as fervently than any youth, and beside us at all the worst moments in our people’s time on this planet.” Her arm slashed once through the air, gesturing for the soldiers to lower their weapons. “She saved the life of our young _iksen_ the day we crashed on Earth. For that alone, you owe her far more than welcome into my tribe,” she declared. “Besides, they are important to the people of Earth. A gain for us, a loss to them. You have no reason to object.”

A falsehood, claiming importance.

“Who are they to their people?” a cooler-headed technician asked. His uniform shoulder marked him of some rank on this ship.

“The daughter of far-travellers,” Saroya replied, fudging the truth into something culturally significant. “A woman who cried blue tears and gained the strength of our clan.” That sends a ruffle through the listeners. Drake’s jaw clenches. “And the daughter of one of their _uahtab_ , of the most powerful Earth tribe.”

I sounded more influential than I was, but standing mute—as by custom—I felt only the tension spiking and rising, within me and around me.

“As clan and community decree,” Saroya declared, finally reaching the point of this whole drama, “we will not join in violence against Taylor and Emery’s former tribe so soon to _coruya_. In fact, should you push, _li-Vwasak_ of Earth and Eljida will be duty bound to stop you.”

::

The bluff was this: their war of revenge would turn into a civil war.

Saroya had the right to call on _Vwasak_ —the great warriors—to protect myself and Taylor, and by extension, so close to the ceremony, any of our former people. All her work since being freed from imprisonment had earned her back not just her clan’s loyalty and trust, but that of those remaining in the Sector, and Eljida too. She transformed from a mere pilot to a resistance fighter and leader, in between staying with Taylor and training me.

After _coruya_ , attacking Earth would be seen as dishonorable, immoral. To reject me and Taylor was one of the smallest risks we were taking—but to reject our former family with war invited retribution from our new tribe. Making us more Atrian in their eyes was like declaring Earth off-limits for full-scale destruction, and that was the only furious plan they seemed to have.  

And, as representative of Eljida, Saroya’s declaration was posed as the intent of that whole community of Atrians, on Earth, ready to resist the _uahtab_ ’s forces should they be duty-bound to do so.

The bluff relied on the answer to one question: would he care more about taking all of their lost people to safety, or for exacting vengeance?

::

No one on the bridge breathed for long moments.

The _uahtab_ ’s eyes burned on my face as I fought to remain steady. He shook his head, slowly, thunderous voice seeming almost to echo. “How can you not want justice for our people?”

Saroya laughed, one harsh, bitter burst of sound. “Revenge is not justice. Should you want it so badly, you can go ahead and destroy Earth.”

The _uahtab_ raised one fist and the soldiers went utterly still. The rigid planes of his face were ferocious, and he spoke with heavy weight in each word. “We found you, our lost people, subjected to such barbaric savagery. And now, a mere former pilot would threaten to destroy the peace between all the tribes for the sake of the savages.”

“I would not be the one to destroy peace if you choose to go to war.”

My heart beat too quickly. While I didn’t understand every cultural undertone, I knew this wasn’t promising. He was not consumed in genocidal intent for my planet, but neither did he want to let humans go without consequence. Without correcting the wrongs. Without making someone pay for all the hurt inflicted on Atrian people.

I could even appreciate that desire.

We weren’t fooling ourselves. We were a tiny fraction of resistance, a thorn in the side of the grand plan. We couldn’t depend on the rest of the Atrian refugees from Earth upholding our threat or joining in our decisions. Survival forced so many of these people to their desperate ends.

But there was a chance, Jesytur said… I caught his solemn expression from the corner of my eye. He told us there was a chance that this fleet did not want to destroy humans, just throw their weight around and make threats, pick up the lost Atrians and return to their explorations and voyages. Maybe enact one of a handful of less completely devastating consequences.

Being prepared for war with a hostile species was not the same as being willing to destroy a planet. That’s the catch. If humans were not solely a violent, mindless species, then there would be reason to just kick us and leave, like a bored schoolyard bully on to better things.

That seemed like the best hope we had. Take their own back and leave. Deny me and Taylor a place, a mere footnote in the grander scheme.

My heart wasn’t allowed to break in that case. The planet would be safe.

And then, someone else moved across the room. A woman who wasn’t so much standing with the Atrian Seven, as she was simply near them. She was done up in total military uniform, silvery metal curling around her forehead like she was a princess.

Teri looked at home on this ship in a way she never did on Earth. She met my eyes for a moment and I saw only tension in the lines around them. Teri reached out, palm-up, and said, “ _Ajta_.” Father. The _uahtab_ turned to her.

I would have been more shocked, but there was so much adrenaline running through me that I could only spare a flash of uncertainty.

She continued, “These two humans aided us. Over and over, they protected us. Because of them, I know that more humans would have been our companions if they weren’t so scared of our superiority.” She tilted her head to the side, casual. “If we hadn’t crashed, first contact would have been better. But an Atrian crashed us, and that Atrian paid for it. Our people were treated horridly, but those humans paid for it the night of the fires in the Sector. These two humans did not cause any of it—in fact, they understand. They follow the rites perfectly, even now, when other humans might have started to speak.”

“What do you seek, my _etvuhi_? Is this when you will tell me what a fitting _skyu_ is for finding such _setiv_ in my life again?” His question seemed to refer to a prior conversation, and his stern face went almost gentle. Taylor’s hand sought mine out behind Saroya and squeezed tightly. We both understoodd _skyu_ , though it could not be directly translated in my ear—it meant a welcoming gift, for a beloved member of family returned.

She nodded once. “ _Ajta_ , I welcome them as sisters.”

My heart stopped.

The emotions not-mine froze in disbelief.

My head felt light as her father nodded once and sighed unhappily, like a parent about to reward their spoilt child even while thinking it a horrid idea. And suddenly, as though waiting for the moment, as though he knew exactly when, Roman said, “If you still follow your _Iksen_ , then we shall not be torn in two.”

My ears felt flush at the sound of his voice, at the fluidity of _Sondiv_ on his tongue more distracting than his presence. I struggled not to stare, to keep my lips from pressing together too tightly, to keep my breathing even and true.

The _uahtab_ turned to him. “ _Iksen_ , your father and grandfathers a hundred times over have led our people. The loss of your line was tragedy! And now, both as _skyu_ and in order, I am asked to spare these aliens despite their prisons, tortures, and brutalization of our people, our _iksen’s_ family. I know the name Whitehill.” His eyes flared and flashed on me. “As do you.”

“She is not her father. More importantly, is this not the more fitting end for the Whitehill family? _Setiv ke sutuziv_ , like my father and grandfathers a hundred times over. These humans may have erred, fearful and wrong and dangerous, but let’s not forget our own history,” he countered, sounding stronger with every word. “You came here on a rescue mission. You have your _Iksen_ back. And even these humans can show us that our ways are not the only ones, and that our might is a thing to fear in itself.”

“You would have us not take vengeance,” the _uahtab_ said, his tone laced with frustration.

His daughter lifted her chin. “We’re better than them. We don’t need to shed blood to make them pay.”

His one raised eyebrow conveyed the thought—that Teri and Roman were naïve, that this choice was short-sighted, that it was wrong.

Until Teri added, “After all, they didn’t know that they weren’t alone in the universe until we dropped in. Letting them out of their backwards planet is not in the best interests of anyone.”

Knowledge flipped the expressions of everyone else on the bridge from unhappy to considering, except for me. For Taylor. We remained as stone, watching and listening.

The _uahtab_ stood still, shoulders firm, before his chin tilted. Down. Once.

I understood when the not-mine emotions flared: triumph.

Roman responded with the same single nod, spinning immediately to face us. His eyes were steady, burning into mine. “As _Iksen_ , I acknowledge your declaration, Saroya.” His attention flickered twice. “Welcome to you, Taylor and Emery, daughters of Atria.”

Our eyes met again. Electric, a current flowing, one heart to another. Triumph and fear. Worry and joy. Sorrow and fury.

“Very well,” the _uahtab_ said. His voice was hard. “Pilot. Order the battleships to return to orbit. Send the scouting vessel to retrieve the rest of our lost people.”

“ _Uahtab_ —!”

“ _Aylt_! We did not travel this way to wage war on our own people.” He spoke again to Roman. “We came in the hopes that our _iksen_ would return to lead once more. The _iksen’s_ command exists: to despise or agree is not our place.” His tone made his dissatisfaction clear, and yet. The soldiers merely swallowed down their protests, nodded, and began to direct their will on the buttons at their fingertips.

He turned his attention on Teri, who looked up at him with gratitude in her eyes. “Does this _skyu_ please you?”

“Yes,” she replied. I couldn’t detect a hint of a lie in her expression, until her father had turned away. Our eyes met. “Let’s go home.” This time, the emotion was not so pleasant, not so welcoming—a kind of brutal pleasure flickered there.

Saroya stepped closer to the center of the bridge, turning her head toward the screens. Numerous world leaders, surrounded by frantic staff, were still watching with wide, terrified eyes and patted at sweat-slick brows. She murmured, “Shall our _iksen_ address the people of Earth, so you do not have to lower yourself to do so, _uahtab_?”

He turned his chair, back to the screens, and made no reply.

Roman stepped forward again. My hand rose to the device in my ear when his words came out in English. Just like his speech on the anniversary of Arrival Day, every syllable was powerful.

“People of Earth—citizens and leaders alike. My father’s dream was integration, when we never thought it possible to leave this place. As refugees in your world…we never wanted war. We never wanted hatred to exist between us. But the flames were fed in all our hearts. And yet, we still managed to come together,” His head twisted just enough that I knew he was fighting not to look back at me. “War was halted today because not all of you saw us only as an enemy. You owe these two women your lives.”

Through a buzzing audio, one of the world leaders’ voices came through. “Who are they? How did they do this?”

“That’s their story,” he replied, arms crossing over his chest. “But while we aren’t going to war with you, neither can we let everything from the past decade simply be forgotten.” The _uahtab_ ’s head turned slightly, betraying his listening ear. “It is a custom of our people to respond to such conflicts with isolation.”

A different world leader chimed in. “And just what does isolation mean for us, Mr... Eek-sen Roman?”

“Casting a net around your planet, so that Atrians and our other allies will know not to approach. And so that you will never be able to leave from within your own atmosphere.”

My stomach curled and twisted at what he did not say—what he could not say, with only the smallest foothold as a leader.

Saroya explained the net when thinking of all possibilities for the arriving fleet. A net didn’t just prevent exiting the atmosphere—Earth would lose all satellite capability, all air-space travel, and it would even have a muting effect on most radio signals. The net would change the world entirely. Civilization as we knew it would cease to exist.

“Wait—other allies—” the same man sputtered.

“You can hardly think we’re the only other lifeforms out there.” A faint smile twisted Roman’s cheek, but even seeing only a fraction of his face, I knew that his eyes were sad. “Regardless, your actions have shown that none of the other peoples in the galaxy should trust you. We will protect them from you.”

The _uahtab_ ’s shoulders lowered, and I could see that he was—while not pleased—more willing to accept this choice than the previous command. In _Sondiv_ , he instructed the soldiers to prepare materials for making that decision possible. And he did it without looking at Taylor or me.

That’s when I knew.

::

Saroya had warned us. Taylor did not hesitate. I did, long enough to write a letter and send it with a volunteer Atrian. A goodbye.

Knowing you can never return to your own planet…that’s harsher on the other side of a successful plan.

::

Earth looked so bright below, glowing in the starlight reflecting off the oceans. Seeing it with your own eyes, instead of in photographs, is astonishing. To do so from a passenger room in the underbelly of an alien ship is something else.

Atrian ships drifted out of the atmosphere. I watched their looping paths into formation.

Would I have a real life out here? Saroya would do her best, but there was no denying the disdain and suspicion from the crew. No denying the unhappiness with her choice to claim us, take us with her, as her family.

And, could I truly live on Atria? Physically? They adapted to our environment, but most of their planet was water, and smaller landmasses were publically shared. Roman had mentioned— 

And. What could we be?

Teri’s expression, when she asked her father to ease the consequences for Earth… She certainly seemed to think something was in her grasp again. Only time can tell, there.

My choice to leave might have been motivated in part by him. If I hadn’t been hunted by a government faction, if I hadn’t been ostracized from human life by my own choices… Maybe I wouldn’t have gone all this way with Saroya.

My mom. My dad. Julie, Lucas, Grayson… I was leaving behind people I loved.

Roman, Saroya, Taylor, Sophia, Drake, Teri… I was leaving with people I loved. 

Maybe it doesn’t matter that I’m gaining and losing at the same time. Saroya’s bluff worked. My planet is safe. I just…won’t be able to stay there. To help my family and friends through the shift in technology, through people from my hometown recognizing me and all the gossip and conflict that will come with that recognition.

My fingers pressed against the transparent wall in front of me, and I wondered what kind of material it is—it didn’t feel cold at all. Cold, relentless space was on the other side, a vacuum. We were not leaving yet, and my eyes were drinking in the sight while it lasted. They were setting up the isolation net as I watched, ships drifting to set up the system.

That they brought it means that isolation was always an option for how the fleet dealt with Earth.

In the room next to mine, Taylor must have been doing the same. Saroya left us alone, and I could hear her voice mingled with the others in the main room that connected our guest quarters. Jesytur and the rest were standing guard. We didn’t know how long we’d need it, how much we’d have to fight to be accepted. Whether we ever would be.

Whether Saroya’s declaration of tribal bond to us would ever be accepted.

Whether Taylor’s partnership with Drake would ever be accepted.

Whether my love for Roman would ever be accepted, especially with him as _iksen_. Apparently, that title was more important than I realized, which only made matters more complicated. And that was without factoring in his love for me in return.

The door behind me slid open silently—I could only tell because the voices briefly become louder, then soften once more. Even though I didn’t want to turn away, I had to be cautious in my new life, and so I did immediately.

And then I froze, our heart-connecting current pulsing strong between us.

Roman stood like he no longer had the weight of a planet on his shoulders. He stood like he’d found his home, like he’d finally found where he belongs. I never realized that the set of his shoulders reflected the fact that he was hunted, unwelcome, constantly fighting to survive, constantly worried. So many of those cares were finally at rest.

And yet, his expression and his heart told me that not everything is resolved. There were things that would never be, things that could never be, and things that we had to wait for—but there was also hope I have never seen in his eyes, and that made him seem like a new person.

My hands reached out and he stepped in and then we were connected, skin to skin of palms, lip to lip. I closed my eyes and felt him all around me—and oh, sometimes out in the wilderness, I could trick my heart into thinking he was near, but touching plus sensing him inside is like igniting a wildfire. It roared dangerously through both of us and for a moment, I feared we’d be lost to it.

Then his lips gentled against mine, one hand twisting free to caress my cheek, and my eyes flickered open. Forehead to forehead, sharing the air—then the twisting guilt rising up through his joy, clouding it murky and forcing him to brush my hair from my cheek and step back.

My free hand curled in his shirt and I tilted my head, questioning.

“Emery.”

“Roman.”

His lips curled up for a moment. Then he sighed, and said, “This net… it means Atrians are leaving Earth for good.” I nodded. “And the _uahtab_ will not agree to let us return you to Earth.”

Did he think… “Yes, I know,” I told him.

A curl of relief interrupted the guilt in his heart. “Knowing doesn’t make the reality any less difficult.”

“No.” I couldn’t disagree.

His fingers caressed my cheek again. “You’re considered Atrian now, so you should be as safe as any citizen on this ship.” His voice was so gentle, like I’d startle if he spoke too loudly. “Plus, the whole planet has seen your face, as you—”

“Confirmed I’m a traitor and got adopted by a scary-hot Atrian mom? Yeah, they might have opinions about that.”

I smiled and that dragged a matching grin out of him, too. Then the serious face dropped again. “Emery, if you really want to, we can still try to make a deal to get you back. Once the isolation net is up, it will not come down again. You can never come back to your home, and while we adapted to Earth, you might not adapt so well to my planet. I—”

The guilt was powering this—the fear that I was here without fully understanding the consequences.

I placed my fingers over his lips. “Do you think Saroya and Taylor and I didn’t already hash this part out? I mean, the isolation net, that was only one possibility. But that we might leave with her as part of her family and never come back? That was a certainty. I didn’t do this rashly, Roman. I thought about it long and hard. And no, I almost didn’t choose this, I almost stayed in hiding on Earth, but in the end—look what we just did.” My hand slid to cup his jaw. “No war. My planet—my old planet, isn’t being destroyed right now. And I have new family.”

“Your parents—”

“I wrote a note,” I told him. “And a messenger from Eljida took it. They already hadn’t seen me in months, Roman.”

His eyebrows furrowed sharply. “That’s even worse, to not say goodbye in person—”

I shook my head. “I made this choice, Roman. And I didn’t make it based on you.”

Relief surged in him. “Ouch,” he joked, weakly.

My grin was inescapable as I finally understood. “You know what I mean. I love you, Roman, but so much made my path besides loving you. I was already considered a traitor for doing what was right, for caring about my friends— _all_ of my friends. I was on the run, I had nothing, and… Taylor helped me. Our friends, my dad, my mom. Saroya didn’t just help, she trained me. Eljida was a sanctuary. I made this decision a long time ago,” I confided, my voice softening into a confessional whisper. “My choice wasn’t just to love you. It was to love a lot of people.”

“You already said goodbye to them,” he said, awe shining on his face. Sadness. And joy.

“Yes. I did.” And somehow, that was what broke me.

Admitting it. Knowing that my goodbye was a piece of paper, a video recording that might not be re-playable once the net was up, and the knowledge that I’d been fighting.

I was on a spaceship, leaving Earth, for good.

He didn’t try to stop me. “Let yourself cry,” he murmured when I tried to hold back, when my lips curled into sobs, when I crumpled into his chest. “It’s okay.” He held me. “You can be sad about it.”

In my heart, I felt soothed by his matching sorrow, calmed by his matching relief to be holding me close.

I pulled myself back together at his simmering guilt, regret coiling small in my stomach. “I can’t promise not to miss them. Not to regret it, sometimes.”

His eyes were content. “That’s fine. As long as you can still live with the decision.” He pressed his forehead against mine. “We still have time to change it.”

I shook our heads. “Don’t try to talk me out of it. That’s something I won’t be able to take.”

“Okay,” he promised. “I won’t.”

::

He stayed with me that ship-night. I invited him there, into my bed, into my body, again. There was grief, but there is also happiness.

Afterward, he curled against my back and held me as I stared into space through the transparent wall, still consuming Earth with my eyes. He broke the silence with a whispered, “The net will take at least twelve more hours to set up.”

Twelve hours are too long, when I was unable to contact anyone on the planet’s surface. A torture, not a gift.

I rolled over in his arms, tucking my hair away from my face. “Tell me about this,” I said, one finger wavering in the space between our hearts. “How I can feel you.”

“I’m not sure,” he replied, his thumb running up and down my arm. “Usually, in my family…that is, women in my family, they tend to—”

“I am _not_ pregnant,” I interrupted. “It’s been months.” I poke my own belly. “Nothing going unusual here.”

He laughed, resting his palm on my hip. “No, that would have been obvious immediately. My best guess is that, well, you’re human. None of the scientists were particularly interested in knowing what sex between our species might do, so there’s not research to look at, but. That’s the difference between us, from before and after I started hearing your heart.”

Hearing my heart. I liked the sound of it. Much better than Taylor’s Drake-dar.

“So, it seems permanent,” I ventured, pressing one hand to his chest. “It hasn’t faded since the last time we were together. Not even—”

“Even?”

Memories of darkness, of a cell door and food sliding toward me on a metal tray. To my displeasure, his arms tightened around me, as if sensing my core trembling at the memory of concrete-cold feet. “No matter where I was, I could feel it.”

He was silent, then, an uneasy churning between us. Suspicion turned to worry all coated over a bundle of icy fury.

I patted at his arm around my wait, refusing to meet his eyes. “It wasn’t as awful as you’re imagining.”

“What wasn’t?”

“The prison,” I whispered. The air seemed heavier with the words in the air. “When they kept me, before I was…running.”

My heart beat five times, low in my ear. “Did they hurt you?”

“I’m fine.”

“Did. They.”

“Roman.” I tucked my head against his neck. “I’m fine.”

He could feel it, though. The memory of fear, dragging oily fingers down my spine, a remembered echo— I had looked death in the eye as a child, and was left stronger for the experience. This served me well, in a way, because now I calmed myself and put all of the memory back into its own compartment. I leaned back, looked at his rigid face, and told him, “I need to not think about it right now.”

Ever stubborn, he wanted to argue. Ever loving, he took my request and obliged me, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “We’ll have to see if anyone can help us figure out the link now that we’re back among my people. Someone has to have an idea,” he said. “We’ll have time to figure it out.”

“While you’re being _iksen_?”

His breath stilled for an instant, before he pulled back. “I’m still the same person, Emery. You knew that about me when we were still in the Sector.”

“Just a leader. You never mentioned that the title was bigger than that,” I pointed out, weaving our fingers together. “I’m not saying it changes my feelings, but it does make us more complicated.”

“You’re an honorary Atrian now,” he countered, squeezing my hand. “That changes a lot.”

“Not if a lot of your people won’t accept it.” Unbidden, a memory rose that I ruthlessly shoved aside. “Not if I’m still…not recovered.”

“So we still have challenges to overcome.” He shrugged. “But you made the choice to come with us, and I am never, ever, going to abandon you when you made that kind of decision.”

My lips twisted. “I’m not trapping you in obligation.”

“You wouldn’t be able to, Emery,” he said, eyes burning into mine. “I’m saying that I love you, and now that we’re not entirely doomed, now that we have a fighting chance—I refuse to let go. The only way you’ll ever get rid of me, is if you tell me to leave.”

The intensity of his eyes, and the passion in the thread connecting us, convinced me that he meant it—that whatever else drove us together, or nudged us apart, we made life-altering choices to be together.

I’d never be able to walk away from him, now that I’d chosen to belong among his people. Whatever that meant for his title, for his role in this new world, I would take it all as it comes. After all, I was not alone: besides my adopted family of Saroya and Taylor, Sophia had already claimed me as a friend. Drake adopted me into his family, too, though we haven’t had a chance to talk—Saroya assured me that her son would take his role as my brother seriously, and knowing him, I believed it whole-heartedly. Even Teri might be counted as part of this support system, suspicious though she was.

Lying in his arms, I started to see the shimmering outline of a future with him. I wanted it enough to close my eyes and reach up for another kiss.

::

The planet looked so small from a distance.

::

_Mom, Dad—_

_I love you both so much, for every single moment you cared for me and loved me in return. For every single time you supported me, helped me achieve my dreams, helped me meet all of my goals. You helped me heal and get healthy again, and let me make my decisions and my mistakes._

_This is not a mistake. I will always think of you, and miss you, and I know that you might be sad and angry that I won’t come back again. But I promise you—I will not regret my new life, and I will be happy, and I will make you proud of me with every day and every action. Please don’t be too mad at me for not coming home._

_Life might get really hard for a while, after the Atrians have made their move. I can’t predict what might happen, but what we wish for, what we think might? Be prepared. Stock up on your supplies, protect yourselves and everyone else we both love, and above all, remember that the world will not end. It’ll change, but you will live. I believe it._

_I love you both. Please, live happy._

_Emery_

::

_Julie, Lucas, Grayson—_

_Take care of yourselves, and take care of each other. That’s the first thing I want you to remember. You need each other, and if things go as planned, go right, then the world’s going to change. It will not end, but it will be different. You’ll live. I believe it._

_I can’t tell you enough how amazing your friendships have been, and how much I will think about you every day, and how much I’ll miss you. Thank you for your support, for letting me make my own decisions, and my own mistakes in all our friendships._

_This is not a mistake. I made my choice, but I’m sad that making it means not being able to see you again. I love you all, you know?_

_Please, live good lives._

_Emery_

::  

Earth turns.

::

And turns…

:: :: ::

 _October_  

::

_Emery,_

_Writing letters to you is silly. It helps me think, but it also just makes me sad. Then the tears come, wash away, and then…I feel better. I feel like you’d understand that, roomie._

_The food situation’s better. You were right about us surviving the Big Change, but, it’s definitely hard. I miss my cell phone more than I ever thought I’d miss an object. And TV! Oh, man. How silly, right? Our ancestors did just fine without all those things, and here I am complaining about not having them when I’ve got food on the table and a warm blanket on my shoulders._

_I can’t say much today—this pencil’s awful—but the usual rundown:_

_Your parents are still awesome._

_Grayson’s getting over his heartache. A roving group came through to barter and he was making eyes at one of them pretty ol’ girls. You’d be happy for him, I know._

_Lucas is finally out of his tech-abyss black hole. He misses his laptop more than I miss pizza, but he’s still using that brilliant brain to figure out the weather patterns and keep us ready._

_And me? I’m starting to see the dawn as an opportunity, rather than too early to function. I might even be teaching some of these little kids to read and write soon, if they keep coming at me like they have been!_

_Sometimes, I worry that the cyper will have more consequences for me. Other times, I think I’m being paranoid. Wish you all were still around to ask, but I’ve started to accept little uncertainties about life, now. You have to make do with what you’ve got and just keep living._

_It’s getting easier to live. I know you’d like hearing that. Our stories aren’t ending anytime soon, I think, and that’s kind of nice to think. There was a while there where we were definitely worried about it._

_I hope you’re figuring out your own life, Emery. I hope you’re happy, I hope you’re safe, and I hope you got the best in your own story’s end._

_Love you, girl,_

_Julia_

::

Atria, from space, isn’t much different from Earth.

If I could write another letter, I’d say:

_Don’t worry. I’m home._

**Author's Note:**

> Bonus Material: Playlist 
> 
> "The Sound of Silence" by Disturbed  
> "Wonder" by Lauren Aquilina  
> "Worlds Collide" by Apocalyptica  
> "My Love [Piano Solo]" by The Captive Forest  
> "Please Forgive Me" by David Gray  
> "When I Grow Up" by Fever Ray  
> "Better Days" by The Goo Goo Dolls  
> "Stay With Me" by Kevin "K.O." Olusola


End file.
